The Last Legacy
by OneLastBird
Summary: It's 50 years after the Revolution, and Reaver is still a vain, murderous, all-around horrible excuse for a human being. However, when his past finally starts catching up to him, he must save Albion along side a do-gooder who should be dead, or he'll be consumed by that which he fears most... Not much of a choice, really.
1. Novel Beginnings

**I guess I should give a warning. There are some spoilers ahead for "Fable: the Journey." Also I'm taking loosely here from the events in the novel "Edge of the World," though I haven't read it. However, it's mostly it's own beast, so you don't have to know anything about either of those to enjoy it.  
**

**Now run ahead, you little scamps, plunge your clammy, thirsty fingers into the pages before you. ;)  
**

* * *

It was the one year anniversary of Albion's most recent brush with destruction, and as tantalizing and scandalous as the festivities were, Reaver found himself slinking away from the tangled mass of drunken bodies currently carpeting his bedroom. He had his fun for the evening, and now he felt... not tired... more like bone weary. It was a state he found himself in far to often these days.

He headed for his study, a robe wrapped around his naked form, and a chalice of wine in hand. He had half a mind to head to attic instead. Last year he spent this night on the roof with a bottle of fine brandy and an excellent view of the end of the world.

He had felt it then, building for weeks. The same sort of dread that bit into his core every time he stood before the Shadow Court. The skies had filled with darkness and fire, a storm that gathered around the Spire and tried to devour it. Then, in a blinding flash of light, the structure crumbled into the sea.

He didn't know how he felt about that night. For the first time since little Sparrow walked into his life he was powerless to control his fate. He was confident it would work itself out, but he couldn't escape the what ifs.

The door to his study swung on well oiled hinges, and the Dragonstomper .48 was out of his robe pocket in a flash. There was a figure standing in the lightless room, thumbing through one of his books.

"Don't move," he commanded. Normally he shot intruders on sight, but he was curious who had the audacity to sneak this far into his home. He flicked the lights on (Electricity. Such a wonderful invention). His eyes narrowed at the sight of a very familiar red and white cloak.

"How wonderful to _see _you _Theresa_," he smirked, not lowering his weapon. "I must say, I never thought I'd _lay eyes _on you again. I was certain you died in that little light show last year."

"She did," came the answer... in a very masculine voice. The Seer turned towards the Tycoon. He was young man, slight, tan skinned, and as blind as Theresa had been. He wore strange, jewel encrusted gauntlets that flickered with magic.

Reaver's smirk grew into a grin. "Apparently not before finding a delicious young replacement."

The Seer's shudder did not go unnoticed.

"You seem to have taken an interest in my book collection," he continued. He gestured at the flaking copy of _The Hero of Oakvale _that the Seer still held. "Funny, I thought the blind had no use for such things."

"There are many ways to see the world."

The hammer of his Dragonstomper clicked into place. "Yes, well... That book you're holding is a rare first edition, and worth a pretty penny. So I'd appreciate it if you would put it down before I kill you. Wouldn't want to risk any blood stains. They're quite devaluing."

"I'll warn you once, Reaver. If you try to shoot me, you'll be the one in pain." The Seer's voice was calm, and he placed the book back on Reaver's desk.

As the gun fired, the Seer's left arm came up. With a twang, the bullet bounced off a faint barrier and into a wall.

Before Reaver could get a second shot off, the same arm extended and a ball of light sent him crashing into a bookshelf. He landed on his feet, but found the front of his robes bunched unto a fist, and his wrist caught in a burning grip.

Reaver tried to wrench himself out of the boy's grasp. The gauntlet that had his gun arm became white hot, but he refused to drop his weapon. Gritting his teeth, he swung out with his free hand.

The Seer anticipated this. He let go of his opponent's robe and stepped back, avoiding the blow. Then moved in and shot a Light spell directly into Reaver's stomach.

That did the trick.

Reaver tasted blood as his legs gave out. He was vaguely aware of his weapon clattering to the floor and being kicked to a far corner as he sank against the wall with his arms wrapped around his midriff. The physical pain was bad enough, but that light... it left a crippling ache in his blackened soul.

"You'll find I'm not like Theresa," the Seer coldly said. "I'm not gonna be cryptic with you, and I'll use force if I must."

Reaver choked out a chuckle. "No you certainly are not. You rather remind me of this horrible old man I used to oppose in the Royal Court now and again. And that accent... you're a Dweller, are you not?"

"I am. My name is Gabriel."

He managed to laugh despite the pain it caused him. "You gain all that power, and use it to exact revenge on a business man for chopping down a few trees? Good for you."

"That's not what this is about." Gabriel crouched in front of him. "It's about the Shadows of Wraithmarsh."

The change was instant. All humor vanished from the Tycoon. He leaned forward and hissed, "What do you know of _them?"_

"Only what I see, and I see them coming for you. If you refuse to listen to me... to act like the Hero you are, then they'll destroy you and Albion along with you."

"They wouldn't dare!" There was genuine fear in his voice now. "We have a bargain, and I've already paid my tithe for this year."

Gabriel tilted his head to the side. "You're afraid if you resist them, they'll take your eternal youth? They'll take so much more if you don't."

There was no response. Reaver sat there, long legs stretched in front of him, breathing harsh. Finally he said, "What would you have me do?" His voice, to his ears, sounded _so_ old.

The Seer stood and removed a deck of cards from his cloak. A quick shuffle and a draw, and he handed one to Reaver.

It was a Joker. A whip thin man, brightly dressed and juggling knives. There was a splatter of blood on the card, but on inspection it was part of the design.

"This card represents a man you met in the past. He was not born a Hero, but forged by his own hand, and without his help, you'll never complete your quest. Seek him in the Belly of the Whale."

A grey portal appeared behind the Seer. As he stepped back into it, he said, "I suggest you take the quickest means of travel you have." The portal faded and he was gone.

There was no chance of anyone finding Reaver in this rather humiliating position. His guests were either gone home or passed out, and the servants knew to keep away when they heard gunfire lest they catch a bullet themselves. With this in mind, he rested his head against the book shelf, closed his eyes, and stayed like that for nearly an hour. Finally, his Hero's blood healed him enough that he groaned shakily to his feet. Stooping in the corner to retrieve his gun, he shuffled back to his room.

There he found several bodies still laying about. He took a deep breath, resisting the urge to shoot one of them in the head. Instead he fired a shot at the ceiling. "Last call, everybody out! Be gone with you! Shoo!" He stepped aside as the startled and drunken Nobles clutched at the remnants of their clothes and ran from the room.

Now alone, he made his way to his bed and collapsed onto it. Sleep took him. Sleep that was frequently interrupted by screams from the past.

* * *

When he awoke late the next morning he was completely healed, but unrested. It took a great deal of effort to crawl out of bed and into the washroom, and he bathed and groomed himself surprisingly quickly, having become an expert at it over the years.

Back in his room, he payed no mind to the mess. The maids would take care of it. He carefully avoided stepping bare foot into anything unsavory as he entered his closet... or more accurately the large room he kept his clothes in. In a dark and undisturbed corner was a chest of drawers containing garments most people would be shocked to know he owned. Plain, common clothes fit for peasants. He sneered at them even has he made his selection.

A loose linen shirt and faded black waistcoat, simple trousers, and old leather riding boots. Even the belt that held his gun holster and sword was far below his usual standards. He completed the ensemble with a dark cloak, high collared and low hooded so that his face was barely visible.

Reaver sighed at the grubby stranger in the mirror, but if he wanted to go anywhere without being mobbed or undergoing another kidnapping attempt, he would have to hide his glorious visage.

That done, he practically ran through the mansion to his study. He collected _The Hero of Oakvale, _and a couple of other priceless books from the room, scratched out a quick note for his Chief of Staff, and gave one of the light fixtures on the wall a hardy yank.

With a _thunk_, a square section of floor lowered, and slid out of sight. Underneath it was a Cullis Gate. He stepped onto it and felt that strange questing energy flow through him, wordlessly asking, _where would you like to go?_

_Sanctuary..._

He vanished in a flash. A minute later, the floor slid back into place.

He reappeared in what used to be the Hero Queen's Sanctuary, and was now the place he kept his most valuable possessions. The main room looked a bit like his study; book lined shelves, a desk covered in clutter. There was a chest that contained such treasures as the four Dragonstompers he wasn't currently using, and a magnificent Auroran diamond he filched from the Royal Treasury. These were the things he didn't trust anyone near.

Reaver dropped the books he had under his arm on the desk next to a small collection he had liberated from the Brightwall Academy during a charity banquet. He then leaned over the modal of Albion at the center of the room.

_Seek him in the Belly of the Whale, _the Seer had said. Reaver also recalled the boy stating he wouldn't be cryptic. So either this self-forged Hero he was looking for truly got himself swallowed by a large sea mammal, or there was a place that went by that name. Reaver wracked his impressive brains for possible locations.

"Ah yes..." Now he remembered. There was a rather famous Albion style pub located in Aurora City that saw most of the sailors and traders passing through there. He often heard it floating in and out of conversations while inspecting his factories in Bowerstone Industrial. "Aurora it is then." He reached out and touched the tiny relief of Aurora, commanding, _take me here._

* * *

The Auroran port was quiet under the mid-afternoon sun, and so no one was around to notice a dark figure materialize in a sandy corner of the bay. Reaver made note of the Cullis Gate's location and then hurried to find some shade.

"Pardon me, miss." He grabbed the first passerby, a rather lovely young woman. "I'm lookin' for the Belly of the Whale?" He spoke in a soft, low voice that was completely unlike his own.

She looked a little frightened, but smiled and said, "Of course, stranger. If you head up that way and stay to the left, you can not miss it."

He released her. "Much abliged," he said.

The city looked like it was doing well, he noted as he followed the woman's directions. He smirked to himself as he thought about the look on that Page woman's face when she realized he had he taken control of the country while the Queen was off in Samarkand... and wasn't making everyone's lives miserable. The smile faltered somewhat when he recalled attending her funeral nearly a decade ago. He only went because he knew he was the last person she wanted there.

It was annoyingly hard sometimes to keep track of who was bothering him _now _and not in the past.

If the cartoonish whale sign hanging outside this building was any indication, he was here. He slipped inside and found the place nearly empty. It seemed if he was to find this 'Blood Stained Joker,' here, he would have to be patient. He growled to himself. Patience was something he had no... well... patience for. If his life wasn't on the line he would have found himself a few nice, exotic whores, had some fun, gone home, and told Gabriel where he could shove his Sight. However, he couldn't even go for the whores without the risk of missing his unwitting future companion.

With the umpteenth sigh of the day, he settled into one of the tables near the back and ordered himself a bottle of wine and a room for the night.

* * *

The sun was almost down, and Reaver was nearly asleep in his goblet when a loud and familiar voice drifted into the Pub.

His eyes widened as a roguish, blond man burst through the door with a gaggle of rowdy sailors; a man who should be, if not dead, then withered with age. This was not the case. In fact the insufferable ex soldier had the audacity to look exactly the same as the last time Reaver laid eyes on him. He would worry about that later, though.

"Benjamin Finn?" he whispered to a Seer who wasn't there. "You've got to be joking."


	2. The Blood Stained Joker

Aurora was about as close to Albion that Ben Finn could get. Sure it was a Territory of the kingdom, but at least out here the Guards were spread thin. Samarkand was fine, but sometimes a man needs a proper ale and a good conversation about shooting Hobbes or Hollow-Men.

The men he found himself in the company of were young. This was good, as all they knew of The Man Who Lost the Queen, was from stories told to them by their parents... grandparents in some cases. Dear Avo he felt old.

He was well on his way to getting drunk and was starting to tell some his raunchier stories from his days in Bloodstone, when he felt a shadow at his back.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when a cold, ancient voice said, "You wouldn' be Mr. Finn, would you?" It had just a touch of a Bowerstone brogue

It was the stranger; the dark, cloaked figure he had noticed skulking near the back of the bar when he first came in. Ben couldn't see his face, but did notice the handle of a beautiful pistol and gleaming sword hanging form the man's belt. Dark cloak, unassuming clothes, and expensive weapons? This was not going to end well.

Face cracking into a drunken smile, he said, "Nah. I doubt any Finn ever deserved the prefix of 'Mr.' Call me Ben. And you are?"

A pause. The stranger seemed to be thinking about his answer. "Lemegeton," he said.

Something tickled at the edge of Ben's memory. It was probably the name... likely some significant historical or mythological reference he figured Ben wouldn't recognize. Ben didn't, but that didn't make it any less obvious of an alias.

"Le... Lemegary? Lemeganda? That's a mouthful," he expertly slurred. His new friends chuckled and one of them clapped him on the back. "But really, what can I do for you, oh black clad and mysterious one?"

He could almost feel the evil stare from under that hood. "I'd like to speak wif' you... privately, if you'd be so kind?"

Privately? That suited him well. Less chance of collateral.

"Sure, sure." Ben got to his feet and swayed in place, blinking up the man. "Blimey, you're tall..."

A steely, gloved hand gripped his elbow. "Come then. This way." He was led away from the cheery faces and bustle of the evening crowd to the stairs leading up to the second story. There were rooms up here, he knew, for overnight guests.

This Lemegeton was _strong. _Ben was keeping up his act while on the stairs, but the strange fellow hauled him up without a problem, dragged him down the hall, and all but tossed him into one of the rooms. He stumbled and used his drunken disorientation as an excuse to take stock of his surroundings. Small room, untouched bed, one rickety chair, and a window. The stranger closed the door behind them, and Ben heard the snick of a lock.

"Woah... room's spinning." Ben staggered over to the chair and gripped it's back. "You know, the last time someone wanted a private moment with me, they tried to kill me."

He thought he heard a chuckle. "I might do as much too, if you don' cooperate, and you can drop the act."

With a wicked grin, Ben said, "Alrighty!" and whipped the chair at the man as hard as he could.

The stranger knocked the flying piece of wood aside and had that pretty pistol out quicker than a wink, but Ben wasn't slow on the draw either. The moment the unfortunate furniture left his fingers, he reached over his shoulder, gripped the butt of his rifle, and swung it down into his hands. A moment later, they were both standing there, weapons pointing at each other.

"I suggest you lower that glorified twig," said the stranger.

Ben was still grinning. "I will... after you tell me who you really are."

The answer was the last one Ben was expecting to hear.

"I'm a Hero, same as you."

He snorted. "Yeah, right. Me? A Hero? I must say, this is the second... no third strangest assassination attempt I've ever been a part of."

"If I was tryin' to assassinate you, _Benny, _you'd be dead before you got wise to my presence. That said, if death is yer wish, I'd be happy to oblige. Now, lower your weapon."

"No." Ben relaxed, displaying just how unconcerned he was. His stance became more casual, his grip looser. "Where do you get off calling _me _a Hero? I am Benjamin bloody Finn, Disgrace and Exile."

"I know." The exasperation in the man's voice was unmistakable. "I traveled all the way to Aurora to find you. I think I know who you are. Now put that rifle down! I will shoot you, and apparently that would doom us all."

"See? Right there you said, 'traveled to Aurora to find you.' How did you know I'd be here, eh? Trying to trick me back into Albion to collect a bounty are we?" Ben was getting very smug by this point. "Also _Lemegeton? _If that's your real name then you have my sympathy."

The possible assassin's mysterious tone dropped and he growled, "Benny, my boy, my patience dangles on a delicate thread at the best of times, and your idiocy is wearing."

"My patience is getting thin as well."

The stranger flinched, his gun arm tensing. "Oops, there it goes." He pulled the trigger.

Ben should have seen it coming, but instead of ducking, dodging, or even trying to get his own shot off... he stood there and smirked.

The bullet struck just above his eyes and whipped his head back. For one long moment he was on his feet, arched backwards, then he collapsed to the floor like a pile of wet rags.

* * *

Reaver blinked at the body now crumpled in the center of the floor. "Wait..." he said in an undisguised voice. "I wasn't supposed to kill you, was I?"

He stepped further into the room and nudged the body with his foot. No response.

What was he supposed to do now? He never killed someone with actual repercussions before, but the Seer had made it very clear he wouldn't be able to do... whatever it is he was supposed do without this man who's blood was now spreading across the floor.

What could he say? He really did _try _not to pull the trigger. In all honesty, he had waited for hours, hoping that someone else he used to know would walk through the door: Garth, Barry, even Sparrow. It wasn't his fault the man was an bloated moron, was it?

He decided that Gabriel should have known better then to send him to _not_ kill someone.

He shrugged. "Oh well." Spinning his Dragonstomper with a flourish, he holstered it and turned to leave.


	3. Flight from Aurora

Reaver's hand was almost upon the curved door fixture when a molten ball of bone crushing force slammed into his right shoulder. With a strangled cry, he lurched forward against the door. A report had set his ears ringing.

He gripped his arm in agony and felt slick blood ooze over his fingers. He'd been shot!

"_Shit. _ Sorry I missed, my eyes are a bit screwy."

He whipped around at that voice and froze.

The body that, a moment ago, had been quite lifeless was now propped up on one elbow, rifle brandished in the other hand. "Just... just give me a tic and I'll try again," said a terribly not dead Ben Finn.

If he had somehow dodged, Reaver could accept that, but no. That was blood streaming from a hole half hidden by Ben's messy bangs. Even as he stared, the wound was closing.

"How?" Reaver breathed.

"Funny story that." Still smirking, Ben got awkwardly to his feet and wiped the blood off his forehead with his sleeve. "Now, you were telling me who you are?"

Too fast to be seen, Reaver drew his gun back out and fired round after round at the man. Each bullet hit home, causing Ben to jerk backwards and grunt in pain.

"Will you stop that?!" Ben yelled when he finally got a break. "If it didn't work the first time, it's not going to work the next twenty!"

Reaver realized the horrible truth that the ex soldier was right. The fresh wounds were already healing at a rate that even _he_ couldn't manage.

_Immortal... He's a true immortal._

He was shaken. Certainly he had seen stranger things in his exceptionally long life, but none that hit so close to home.

"We seem to be at an em passe," Ben interrupted his thoughts. "I'm not one for shooting folks when I don't know why, and, let's face it... you can shoot me all you want. Won't do a thing. So how about you put that pistol away and you answer my questions like we're two civilized gentlemen?"

Unused to taking orders from people, Reaver was slow to holster his Dragonstomper. Luckily he was never one to give in two panic. With a deep breath, his nerves were calmed.

He said, "I told you I'm a Hero. Can't say any more then that."

"Why not?" Ben nodded towards him. "Why don't you take that hood off?"

Reaver smirked. "Trust me, Ben. You _do not _want to see my face." He was fairly certain this was the truth, seeing as last time they were in a room together, Ben tried to kill him.

"Ok... Assuming I believe you, and you really are a Hero, why come all the way to Aurora to find me of all people?"

"'Cause a blind Seer told me to." He let that statement hang between them for a moment. Judging by Ben's sharp intake of breath, the Queen must have told her little friend about Theresa. Ben wasn't saying anything, so he continued.

"An... old acquaintance of mine is threatenin' Albion, and last night the Seer came to me, warning of their intentions. I was instructed to seek out a second Hero, wif'out whom I won't be able to complete my quest. The clues he gave led here, to you."

Ben lowered his rifle. "I'd be more inclined to believe you if you didn't just try to kill me." Yet... he did provoke the man, and that story was one that few could have come up with.

"It was a grievous error, I assure you. I... lost my temper."

"You loose it like that often?"

No response. The so called Hero went silent, no doubt waiting patiently for his decision.

Ben was going to go along with it. He couldn't believe himself sometimes. This man was probably going to try and turn him in somehow, but what was the risk in playing along? He might get in a gun battle down the road. If he refused, and it turned out the stranger was telling the truth, all of Albion would be in danger.

"Alright," he finally said. He slung his rifle onto his back. "But I'm only going as far as to speak to this Seer of yours, and if you try to drag me one step in the direction of Albion, I'll put a bullet between _your _eyes, are we clear_?"_

"But a' course," Reaver grunted out. He was craning his neck, to try and look at the damage to his shoulder.

Feeling kind of bad now for causing the problem, Ben stepped forward and said, "Er... Here. Let me just-"

"Hands to yerself, Ben."

His voice was calm, but he was tensed like an animal so Ben back-peddled with his hands up. "Okay, okay."

_"Which one was it coming from?"_

"Pardon?" Was the stranger whispering now?

"That weren't me."

_"Down at the end, sir. Please be careful."_

Ben frowned. "Sounds like we've outstayed our welcome."

His first thought was the window, and as he turned to check on it he was vaguely aware of his new friend wedging the fallen chair under the door fixture. _Good idea. Buy us some time._

The window opened inwards and was nearly level with a street that winded upwards around the building. "Hey, we can..." He stopped when he saw what was happening behind him.

The door started to rattle and a gruff voice shouted, _"City guard! Open up!"_

The man... Lemegeton? He had his gun trained on the door, tracking the exact point that the voice was emanating from.

As the hammer eased back, Ben shot forward and caught the man's bony wrist, forcing it upwards. The gun went off, but the bullet banged harmlessly into the ceiling.

"Bloody Hell!" Ben yelled. "Are you always this shooty?!"

He got an angry snarl as a response.

"Come on, we've got an out." He wasn't letting go of that wrist. This Hero was a psychopath!

The window was still clear. No guards yet, thank Avo.

He gestured to it. "Good thing Aurora's so hilly, eh?"

Reaver wrenched out of his grasp and climbed out with the grace of an alley cat.

_Moves, pretty good for an injured guy. Looks like the bleeding's stopped too._

It was a bit more of a struggle for Ben. As soon as his feet touched the ground, he was grabbed by the back of his collar and dragged into a shadowed alley. Just on time, too. What looked like a whole platoon of guards marched by.

"Wonderful," he whispered. "They must know I'm here."

"This way." Reaver was at the other end of the alley, peeking out.

Ben followed as they slinked between shadows like two experienced criminals. Funny, a moment ago this man was ready to kill a guard in cold blood, but now he was carefully avoiding a fight.

"Where are we going," he broke down and asked.

"The harbor... though it _is_ in the direction of Albion. I 'ope you don' mind."

He grinned at the quip. "You have a boat? Please tell me you have a boat."

"I do, but it ain't here."

Ben stopped abruptly. "We can't steal one. It'll get the Coast Guard after us. Have you even thought this through?"

"I wasn't anticipatin' a need for stealth. If you hadn't a shot me in the back..." Reaver carefully rounded another corner.

"Well you shot me in the head first! And I wasn't even aiming for you. I was aiming for the wall behind you. Give you a start, you know? That's a little hard to do when your brain's been perforated!"

"Must you be so loud?"

They were almost to the harbor when Reaver skidded to a halt, Ben almost tripping over him. He pulled the other behind the nearest house.

"My, my, that's quite the welcomin' party. Yer a popular man."

"What..." Ben peaked out and immediately saw what he meant.

There were three ships at the docks; not little Coast Guard paddle boats, but full naval war ships. What looked like an entire unit of the Albion Royal Army was standing on the shore.

"What the Hell?"

"How long 'ave you been in Aurora?" Reaver whispered.

"Only three days."

"Word a' yer presence must've reached the King."

Ben stared at him as though he was insane. "How? It takes longer than that just to reach Bowerstone from here."

"There's this wonderful new invention called a radio what allows messages to be sent over long distances. Most Navy vessels have 'ave 'em these days."

"Reaver's doing, no doubt," spat Ben. "I don't know what that pompous devil is playing at, but he treats the military like he owns the bloody thing."

"That's 'cause 'ee does." Reaver managed to sound both grave and amused.

Ben snorted at that. "What I don't get is why they're going through so much trouble to catch one man."

"The King 'as grown old, and you never did return his wife to 'im."

Ben flinched at that.

Reaver noticed, and continued. "It's likely that, 'fore 'e dies, 'e wishes to see you hanged... or in yer case locked away with no 'ope of escape."

Couldn't argue with that. "So what do we do? Shall we rush them, or flee to the desert?"

"Both a' those ideas are terrible."

"Story of my life," Ben sighed.

"Hush. Let me think."

Leaning against the wall and tapping a finger on his lips, Reaver contemplated his options. He could walk out there and reveal himself, order the soldiers to stand down... but that would cause two rather large problems.

One: Ben would either attack him, or run for it.

Two: If his association with the exile was known, the King might finally have the leverage needed to oust him from some of his power. The old fool could hardly run things without his crafty Tycoon, but Reaver didn't trust him not to do it out of spite.

He could start a gun fight. He had no qualms about killing every soldier in the city, but... no. There was too much risk that his hood would come off during the commotion. If he was recognized, he'd be back to problem two.

They would have to stay their current course. Now, how to get around the Soldiers on the beach...

"I got it. Climb onto the roof."

"Er..." Ben had no idea how that was going to help anything.

"Do as I say. Up with you." He made an upwards _*shoo* _gesture in case the exile didn't understand.

With a shrug, Ben climbed onto a nearby barrel and scrambled onto the roof. Reaver followed him with ease.

"So we're up here. Now what?"

He nearly jumped out of his skin when Reaver grabbed him, hauled him into plain sight, and hollered, "Good evenin' gentlemen! Is this who yer lookin' for?!"

That same strange recognition tickled at Ben's brain, but he had bigger things to worry about.

"Are you daft?!" He tried to claw the hand off, but was abruptly released. He reflexively ducked under a volley of bullets. His "friend" was already dashing across the uneven Auroran rooftops, one hand holding his hood in place, laughing happily.

"Don' just stand there like a Hobbe!" Reaver called merrily over his shoulder. "Give 'em a chase!"

"You _are _daft!" Ben was up and running now. The Soldiers were well back, but on their heels.

Reaver headed up the western hill. His heart was in his throat and a grin was plastered to his face as he realized how much he _missed_ this. When did his life get so bloody boring? Sure, his debauched parties and illegal "tournaments" provided a fair distraction, but they were so... controlled. There was never any danger to himself; no real risk.

Bullets flying around him. There was a group of guards trying to head them off. He drew his Dragonstomper .48 and fired rapidly as he jumped to an adjacent building. The men he aimed at went down, forcing the rest to dive for cover.

Adrenalin washed over him like a refreshing breeze.

Hearing gunfire, Ben looked ahead of him as saw his guide shooting wildly, forcing guards and soldiers alike to hide rather than pursue them. "Oi! You're going to run out of bullets like that!"

"Never!" came the jubilant reply.

He rolled his eyes and scrabbled on the rounded roof he was currently traversing, nearly slipping off.

_Curse this city and its damned wonkey houses!_

Up ahead the stranger jumped back down into the street.

"Finally," Ben muttered.

He followed gladly, but skidded to a stop at the edge of a cliff overlooking the harbor bay. Leaning over, he watched as the other man landed on bent knees, rolled forward, and rose, beckoning him to follow.

"What _is _he?"

Ben backed away from the cliff, and looked over his shoulder. He couldn't see any soldiers through the winding houses, but he could hear them. They were only a few moments away.

Rubbing his hands together, he took a deep breath and said, "Something tells me I'm not going to enjoy this."

He took it at a run and leapt, arms pinwheeling as he fell through the cold desert night.

He landed on his feet and felt a horrible snap that caused him to collapse into the sand.

"I weren't sure if you'd do it or not. Bravo." His accursed "friend" was standing over him, watching his agonized writhing with what he imagined to be amusement. "Now, get up. We're almost out a' this."

"Hold on," he managed. "I think I broke something."

He maneuvered himself into a seated position and examined his left leg. Yes... his tibia was splintered in half. With a mighty string of curses, he snapped it back in place and gingerly pushed himself to his feet. He would have a limp for a few hours, but his leg was already on the mend.

Dark eyes stared from under that infernal hood. "You _must_ tell me yer secret."

*_kapaf paf paf*_

A rain of bullets hit the sand around them. The soldiers had reached the cliff.

Ben looked up at them and said, "Maybe another time."

"Agreed."

They ran... away from the harbor.

"Uh, Leme? The ships are that way."

"When did I say we were takin' a ship?" Reaver started kicking about, digging for something with his foot. "Come on. Where is it?"

"Then how are we-"

"'Ere we go." He unearthed a sort of circular metal plate that was embedded in the stone.

Ben squinted at it in the dark until he recognized it. "That's one of those Old Kingdom gates. I thought only Heros could-"

As the man stepped onto it and was surrounded by a misty white light, it finally clicked.

This was no ruse.

He was a Hero... An honest to Avo, legends and fables Hero, and, by extension, Ben was one as well.

Smirking as he saw comprehension on the exile's face, Reaver reached towards him and said, "Take my hand."

Ben was a Hero? He couldn't wrap his head around it. There was no way a grubby old ex-soldier, looser of Queens, and brother of con-men and thieves, could be a Hero.

"Ben!"

Ben's head snapped up.

"We don't 'ave time fer this."

He was right. There were bullets still falling around them like a hot, loud hail, and some of the soldiers were heading back down to the beach.

Ben held out his hand and stared at it.

Could he really do this?

If Albion was in danger then he'd damn well try.

He grasped the hand being offered him, and felt a strange power crawl up his arm.

Reaver, for his part, waved cheerfully at those still on the cliff as the two of them vanished.


	4. Reaver Revealed

For a brief moment, Ben felt as though he didn't exist. An eternal nothingness was pressing in on him, suffocating him, and then it was gone. Gasping, he stumbled forward and caught the edge of something. His eyes re-focused. It was a map of Albion and Aurora.

"Where..."

He stopped his question short as he took in his surroundings; large, circular room, brightly lit, four doors leading out, a map at the center. "This is the Queen's Sanctuary!"

Reaver grunted in reply. He was again examining his shoulder, or rather the hole and blood stains in his cloak.

"It's exactly as she described it," said Ben. "Well, except for the clutter. You just... moved right in, did you?"

"_She's_ not bin usin' it."

Ben winced. He moved over to the shelves and glanced over the various titles. Most of them were theoretical texts or histories. "Are you a scholar?"

"In a past life," Reaver answered absently. He made a disapproving noise at the state of his garments. Ben was much worse off, what with all the bullet holes and caked blood, but he could care less. He could wear a ratty disguise, but he refused to wear a ratty, tattered, and filthy disguise if he could help it. "I shall return shortly," he said as he prepared to activate the map. "Don't go anywhere."

"Wait, you're leaving me here?"

"Yes." He reached towards Millifields, but paused. "Oh, and Benny? Keep in mind there are worse fates then death, and if you touch any a' my things, I'll introduce you to several."

He activated the gate and was gone.

Of course, now Ben _had _to snoop through the room.

He first tried the doors, but they were all locked and now amount of force seemed to budge them. Good. Assuming that Lemegeton fellow didn't have a secret means of opening them, this meant whatever the Queen kept in there was safe.

Next he examined the chest. It was locked, yet there was no place anywhere on it to insert a key. There was, however, an enchantment circle glowing bright blue on the top. Ben touched this and received a sharp jolt of lightening for his trouble. He shook his hand and blew on it till it healed.

There were a number of crumpled papers by the desk. He collected these and opened them, finding they contained what read like abruptly discarded diary pages. The frequently crossed out words were written in a loopy, elegant style that probably took years to perfect, and described things like handling money, hiring decorators, and various escapades of the bedroom. No name was mentioned. He figured his host was probably a wealthy noble, or business man.

He crumpled them back up and dropped them on the floor.

The desk was littered with more papers, some covered in rather amusing doodles, pens, ledgers, and a number of more interesting books. There was a crumbling old copy of _The Hero of Oakvale, _and a beautifully preserved children's fable called _Adventures of Chicken Chaser._ Ben had read both of these long ago, so he pushed them aside.

He picked up one of the others, _The Pangs of Sunset,_ flipped it open, and nearly died of laughter. It was some sort of... harlequin romance from the vantage of the Hero Hammer, and it was describing the relationship between her fellow Heroes Garth and Reaver. That premise alone was fairly humorous, but it was the author's depiction of the Hero of Skill that did him in.

Reaver was being portrayed as some sort of beautiful, but damaged flower, wilting from Garth's advances and angsting about a tortured past that had driven him to Piracy. He nearly felt insulted on the scoundrel's behalf!

He might have continued reading if it wasn't so disturbingly saccharine and poorly written; sort of a one note joke, if you will. Still chuckling, he put it down... and realized that, yes, Reaver _was _alive back in Queen Sparrow's time.

He mentally shrugged. There were plenty of legends about Heros living well past the normal human expectancy. He had fought beside Garth in Samarkand after all.

The next book was _Reaver on Reaver. _He grimaced. Reaver wrote an autobiography? There was no way he was reading that.

There was only one left, smaller than the others and bound in red leather. There was a black, circular seal inked into the cover that looked like a corrupted Cullis Gate. When he picked it up, it was heavier than it had any right to be, and something terrible settled into his stomach.

He gulped and opened it. On the first page was the title, _The Invocation of the Watchers, _but it was the author's name that made his eyebrows rise; _Lemegeton._

In the empty space at the bottom was a shaky, barely legible scrawl, smudged in some places as though the ink had gotten wet. It took him a minute, but he managed to decipher it:

_Bury this book DO NOT READ will destroy you as it has me_

_I'm so sorry_

He really should put the book down, but, hands moving as though possessed, he turned the page.

Old Kingdom Runes. The book was full of them; translations underneath, the occasional sketch or explanation. It was a hand written journal... all very hard to follow.

Ben frowned in confusion. There was no way that tight, concise font was written by the same hand responsible for those crumpled papers.

So his host _was _using an alias; the author of a favored book.

His eyes began to skim over one of the translations.

_I conjure thee, O thou Mighty and Potent Prince of Darkness..._

The book was torn from his hands, causing him to jump and bang his hip on the desk.

_"I told you not to touch anything!"_

His host was behind him, brandishing the book and sounding inhuman in his fury.

"Shit! Oww!" Ben rubbed at his hip. "You gave me quite a *_GAHK!*_"

He was grabbed by his throat, that pistol pressed to his temple.

_"Did you read the words?! Did you say them aloud?!" _his captor hissed.

He kicked out and tried to pry off the fingers that were crushing his trachea. "N... no... only cover page..." he lied.

He was shoved to the floor and another bullet was put through his head.

He lay there, twitching until his brain was healed enough for his limbs to function, then he got to his knees, moaned, and placed his hands over his eyes. "That causes wicked migraines," he said.

"Good," replied Reaver. He brushed a hand over the seal on his chest, causing it to pop open. Tossing the book inside, he slammed the lid, placed both hands on it, and leaned forward. "You nearly doomed us. If you summoned the Shadow Court here, then it would all be over."

Headache fading, Ben got up. "What's the Shadow Court?"

"That which threatens Albion." Reaver walked over to his desk and sank into his chair.

"If the book is so dangerous, why not destroy it?"

"I've _tried._" Pulling out one of the drawers, he retrieved a tumbler and a crystal decanter half-filled with an amber liquor. He poured himself a generous portion and tossed it back. "I would 'ave offered you a glass, but then you went and ferreted through my things after I expressly forbade it." He poured himself another.

Ben crossed his arms and smirked. "You certainly know how to torture a man."

A dark chuckle. "Yes, I do."

Ben shuddered and fell silent, so Reaver grabbed _The Pangs of Sunset, _placed his boots on the desk, and began to read.

His guest didn't last long before breaking.

"So where's this Seer of yours?" asked Ben.

"'Aven't a clue. I expected him to arrive the moment I retrieved you, but per'aps this place is beyond 'is reach. I shan't suggest traveling to Albion since you threatened me so colorfully about it. Yet it may be the only course left to us."

"That won't be necessary," said a momentarily disembodied voice. The misty portal opened at the other end of the room, and the Seer appeared within it.

"Funny," said Ben as he examined the young man. "I could have sworn the Queen said you were a woman."

"The old Seeress died last year," explained the Seer. "My name is Gabriel. Um... and you are?"

One of Reaver's hidden eyebrows rose. _He doesn't know who Ben is?_

Ben didn't miss a beat, "Benjamin Finn at your service!"

"Benjamin?" It was difficult to tell without seeing his eyes, but Gabriel looked perplexed. "_Ben _Finn? As in Bloody Ben?" Ben groaned at the nickname, but the Seer continued.. "I've heard of you. Yes, you're the one. You've done well Reaver."

It wasn't beyond Gabriel's notice that both men suddenly froze.

"Did you just say, _'Reaver?'" _Ben asked, his eyes narrowed.

"You... didn't know it was him?" He looked over to the cloaked figure and nearly slapped his palm to his face. "He's wearing a disguise, isn't he?"

Having suppressed the urge to shoot the boy, Reaver dropped the low tone and cut in with his normal voice, "I certainly am. I never would have got him here otherwise."

Ben rounded on him, eyes wide and furious, mouth spluttering.

Reaver swept his hood off and unfastened the buttons of his concealing collar. Practiced fingers ran through his hair, setting it straight. He offered Ben an easy smile. "I meant it when I said you didn't want to see my face."


	5. To Save the Queen

**Those of you who've been following along might notice I removed the "Not Slash" from the story description. I realized I couldn't really promise nothing would happen, Reaver being a giant perv and all.**

* * *

It took a moment for Ben to snap out of his shock induced torpor. When he did, he coldly said, "I'm leaving."

Reaver was smiling, clearly enjoying the situation. "How?"

Ben's eyes widened and he ran to the map, poking and prodding the model towns. "How do you make this bloody thing work?!"

"_You _don't." Reaver took a sip of his drink and went back to reading.

"Mr Finn?" The Seer cautiously approached him, hands up in a placating manner. "Please-"

Ben took no notice of him. Giving up on the map, he stormed over to Reaver and slammed his hands on the man's desk. "_You! _You slimy, wretched, _Balverine! _You tricked me, lured me here-"

"So you couldn't do precisely what you are attempting? You've caught me." Reaver didn't look up from his book.

"Please, if you'd listen-"

Again Ben ignored the boy as he pulled his rifle from his shoulder and aimed at Reaver's head.

"Back to this again, are we?" Reaver muttered.

"You are getting me out of here on the count of three, or I'll show you how it feels to be shot in the head. One!"

Reaver remained relaxed. "You won't do it."

"What makes you say that? Two!"

"Mr Finn? Ben? Stop this!"

"Because you're a decent man, and it is the burden of the decent that they can never slay the deserving."

Ben cocked his gun. "I could barely be called such when you knew me, and the years have not been kind. For what you did to everyone, to the King, to _Albion_, I will send you to the Void."

"And what _have _I done to Albion?"

Gabriel was afraid to interrupt as the two stared each other down, afraid that doing so would cause Ben to pull the trigger.

Growing bored, Reaver said, "Three."

Ben released the breath he'd been holding and lowered his weapon. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth before holstering it and rounding on the Seer. "You. Get me out of here."

"I can't," was Gabrial's weak reply. "I understand, but I'm sorry."

"You _understand?!"_

"I'm... I was a Dweller. You fought beside Sabine? He was my Grandfather. I have as much right to hate Reaver as anyone."

Ben deflated, his hard expression faltering, "You're the old coot's-" but then he heard Reaver chuckle. Clenching his fists, he forced it back in place and turned away. "Then you know that there is nothing you can say to make me fight beside that monster."

Gabriel sighed. Sightless eyes closed behind their covering and he shivered as the Will of the Spire took him, showed him what he needed to know. "He's going to save the Queen."

Both attentions snapped in his direction.

"What did you say?" asked a disbelieving Ben.

"Isn't that what you've sought all these years, Mr Finn?"

"Ben. Call me Ben."

Gabrial nodded. "As hard as it is to believe, Reaver is the only one who can free her."

Ben burst into laughter, a mad, mirthless noise.

Face now serious, Reaver said, "My dear boy, why on earth would I do something so counter productive?"

Before Ben could snap, the Seer tilted his head and answered. "Because she is the only one who can stand between you and the Shadows."

As Ben's laugher died, he and Reaver stared hard at the Seer. "You're serious," he said.

Reaver placed his drink and the book on his desk, and sat up, catching the attention of the others. He rested his elbows on its surface, folded his fingers, set them against his lips, and fell into thought.

"He won't do it," said Ben, watching him.

Reaver didn't hear. He watched them blankly with tired eyes. "Very well," he finally said. "I'll rescue her Majesty, but I'll do it _alone._ I have no use for any annoying dullards."

Ben blinked in surprise. "You'll..." he shook his head to clear it. To the Seer he said, "Never mind that. He's right. Ignoring the 'annoying dullard' bit, I don't have much to offer here: good aim and the inability to die aren't much compared to a full, blown, capitol 'H' Hero. He's proven he can do pretty much whatever he wants, so why do I have to go?"

"Without you, he won't make the journey."

Reaver scoffed. "Excuse me? Do you have any idea of the feats I've accomplished? What I'm capable of?"

"I only know what I see," said Gabrial, a new edge to his voice. "I'm... new to all of this. I can't tell you how it'll end, but I can see what must be done so that that it ends well. If you don't keep Ben at your side, you will fall. If you don't save the Queen, you will fall. If you don't fight for Albion, _you will fall."_

"Yes, I get it," Reaver snapped.

Ben growled and rubbed his face. How late was it? He was exhausted. "I can't believe this. You've managed to trap us both in some horrible no-win situation."

"Or win-win, depending on how you look at it," Gabriel offered with a small smile. "So what will it be, Ben?"

"Don't have much of a choice, really." His smile was more like a grimace.

"You have more than you think," said the Seer. "The Queen is no longer in this world, but you will find the door to her prison in Samarkand. The Empress hides the key." He turned to Reaver, and said, "Be prepared to face all that you have lost."

Reaver said nothing, but his eyes darkened and his shoulders hunched.

Gabriel could tell he was understood. He called up his portal, but before he left he said, "Ben? I truly am sorry about all of this."

"It's fine, son." Ben waved him off. "Go on. Go to wherever it is you Seers vanish to when you're not messing with our futures."

After some hesitation, Gabrial was gone.

A heavy silence settled in his absence. Ben turned his back and leaned on the map, contemplating it.

Reaver stayed motionless and stared at nothing. His body was still young, still healthy... so how was it that he felt so old and tired? It was as though an entire Smithy's stock of cold iron was settled in his chest, and at times like this, he just wanted to climb into bed and never leave. With a shiver, he pulled himself out of that dark place; Ben was talking.

"I don't see anywhere on this thing that's not in Albion," said the exile, "and I don't see any beds in here."

Reaver examined his back, hole riddled and blood stained as it was. "Bloodstone." He stood. "I have a house and a ship there, and the city garrison is in my pocket. It will do for tonight."

He reached to take Ben's arm, and rolled his eyes when the younger man drew away with a glare. "Come now, Ben. I can hardly betray you. If I don't play along, I'll die."

"Wouldn't put it past you to do it out of spite," Ben grumbled as he awkwardly held out his arm.

* * *

It was late, probably two in the morning, and although the bars and brothels of Bloodstone were far from empty, there was no one in the streets.

Reaver and Ben passed unobserved. The house Reaver led them to was nowhere near as grandiose as his mansion in Milliefields, but it was still more impressive then anything else Bloodstone had to offer.

When they stepped inside the door flames leapt to life in every lantern and candle, causing Ben to pause and raise a questioning eyebrow.

"Enchantments," Reaver muttered in explanation. He was no longer standing with his usual poise, but was slumped with fatigue. Not turning to his guest, he pointed at a spot by his feet. "Stay here. Don't touch anything this time." He moved up the stairs and into the hall in a shuffle worthy of any Hollow Man.

Ben was tempted to go snooping again, but he was also exhausted, so he settled for trying not to be unnerved by the number of Reaver's likenesses staring at him from every free surface of wall.

He woke a bit at the gun shot that echoed from upstairs.

Mere moments later a startled old man appeared at the banister. He was wearing an unbuttoned butler's jacket over his nightclothes and his eyes widened when he found Ben staring blearily up at him.

"You all right?" Ben asked with what concern he could muster.

"Yes, quite," the butler said. He straightened himself, somehow managing dignity. "Terribly sorry I failed to greet you at the door. I was not expecting Master Reaver's return for another ten months, and with a guest no less. I'm am ashamed and embarrassed." He spoke with no inflection as beckoned Ben up the stairs and led him down the opposite hall.

Ben yawned. "Naw... s'fine. Couldn't be expecting us at this ungodly hour."

"Ah, but such is a butler's station. Here we are." He bowed Ben into a large, richly furnished anteroom that only had a couple of the owner's portraits and a small statuette. He looked around and whistled. "This would be a beautiful house if Reaver didn't stick his face everywhere."

The butler nodded. "It's nearly as old as he is."

"So... a hundred and ten, hundred and twenty?"

"More like 300."

Ben choked. "How old is Reaver?!"

"No one knows. There's records of him going back almost 400 years." He gestured to the room. "As you can see, this is one of the nicer guest rooms. The bedroom is through that door there and the washroom is through here. Would you like anything to drink while I draw you a bath?"

Ben was drifting towards the door to the bedroom when he heard this. "A bath? Look, I really need to sleep."

"I'm afraid that Master Reaver insisted you get cleaned up before you 'soil the good linens,' as he put it."

"Really? _Reaver_ is worried about soiled linens?"

The butler's face stayed ever serious. "Clean linens is one of the few things Master Reaver is adamant about. When he's here we are often required to wash several rooms worth five times a day."

Ben broke into a snorting laugh, and when the butler made no comment he only laughed harder. He waved the man off as he headed for the bathroom. "All right, all right. I'll go clean up."

The butler was about to leave, but paused to say, "Ah yes. If you would leave your measurements and any requests, I am to have new travel clothes made for you in the morning."

It took him a moment to realize what was being said, and another to remember that he left his pack in Aurora. He shrugged. There was nothing important in it. His possessions were at his house in Zahadar and he could easily find a replacement pack.

Half an hour later and he was clean for the first time since leaving Samarkand, and soaking in a tub that was large enough for him to swim in. The downside (and it was a rather large one) was that his mind kept wandering back to what that perverted year old man might have been doing in this very tub, or in the bed he was about to sleep in... for 300 years.

He chuckled. "At least the sheets'll be clean."


	6. Narcissus

_It's dark. His torch light catches the twisted reliefs of the ruined temple, causing living shadows to dance around him. They jeer and taunt him with silent tongues. He shivers._

_The book is held before him, the Dark Seal is in its place, and the words tumble past his lips. He expects a bright flash, a rending sound perhaps, but the portal that appears is dark and quiet. Three figures, shadow cloaked, red eyed, and opaque, step from the Void. Almadiel did not deem to appear himself, but nor did he send his Shadow. He sent the entire Court. They stand before the thrones of bones left behind by Old Kingdom cultists._

_The young man feels faint. His illness gnaws upon him like a starving Hobbe, and the journey down the twisted path has left him spent. He shivers again. It hasn't yet taken his youth, his beauty, but his vigor? He grows weaker by the month. In a matter of years he might be not but a sagging husk, and dead thereafter._

_With hushed voices, deep and black, the Shadow Court speaks. "You who have called us, what is the bargain you seek?"_

_"I wish to live... to stave off disease and death." He recalls the ancient man of withered skin and dust who visited him once while he was studying a cave in Shalefields. "I wish to stave off age as well."_

_"Death and age? This we can do."_

_His heart leaps, but they're not finished._

_"In return we require the life and youth of others. We will take the first on this night, and you will bring to us one sacrifice every year hereafter. That is the bargain we offer."_

_His eyes widen in horror. "Sacrifice?! I wasn't... I won't... can't... You can't ask this of me! Please anything else! I want to live, but I won't sacrifice someone like that!"_

_"You called us here," says the court. "If no bargain is struck, then we shall take your soul for our troubles."_

_He trembles. Unshed tears sting his eyes. Perhaps he should have expected this, but he thought they would ask for something from _him_... some service, or his soul after a certain number of years. Now he has to choose: give up his soul this very moment, or live and give the souls of others._

_"Is there not a different bargain we can make?" he whimpers._

_"No." Their answer reverberates off the walls like an angry wind._

_He wipes at his face and straightens his back. He can't give up now. He has far too much to do, and he pictures his little dove's face when he returns, strong and healthy. It strengthens his resolve. "I agree to your terms," he says in a broken tone._

_The middle figure of that grim triptych extends a shadowed and bony hand, and a black grail appears before him. "Drink, and the bargain will be sealed."_

_He takes the grail in shaking hands. It has a weight he can hardly bare and is filled with a shimmering, colorless liquid. He sets it to his lips and drinks deeply, not wanting to offend his hosts. The liquid has no real flavor. It leaves a sensation on his tongue like kissing a Will user. As soon as he swallows, the world becomes a rolling ocean of nausea, and he drops the cup. It fades before it can hit the floor._

_The Shadow Court is moving towards him now. He tries to scramble back, but his legs can barely navigate the madly rippling ground. They pick up the Dark Seal and lean into his space, placing it inside his pocket. "Send your sacrifices with this. We will take whoever holds it. If you fail to make your payment, our bargain will be void and we will come for you."_

_The three plunge their hands into his chest, dark cold fingers curling around his heart and pushing a strangled cry from his lips. They are gone._

_He stumbles up the stairs, needing the freedom of the night. Once outside, the cold wind slashes at him like the white balverenes from that old song, and he falls, retching, to his his hands and knees. Nervousness has kept him from eating that day, so all he can bring up is yellow bile._

_Suddenly he feels better. The nausea stops. His stomach settles, and a long forgotten strength floods through ever fiber and muscle. He smiles._

_...And then the screaming begins._

* * *

Reaver opened his eyes. He was lying on his side, hands by his face, shivering from the sweat cooling on his bare skin. He tugged the blanket over his shoulders and instantly felt better.

Blasted nightmare...

Was he really going to fight against the Shadow Court? They said their bargain would be void if he failed to make a sacrifice, but he was fairly certain trying to destroy them was against some unspoken term. Even if not, even if he managed to defeat them, would his youth vanish with their power? He could feel the wrinkles forming just thinking about it.

That man he had been began to rail against his soul in panic like a bird fluttering against its cage. He closed his eyes and calmly drew dark curtains around the bars to silence the pathetic thing.

What was he to do?

He got up, now restless and edgy. He started to pace.

He had half a mind to crawl into bed with Ben Finn, and he smirked at the thought. The man would be completely unwilling, and would probably try to run off afterwards. Yet he was by no means unattractive, and his reaction would provide some much needed entertainment.

Ben... Ben was somehow immortal, and Reaver was willing to bet money that he didn't sell his soul to get that way. He barely seemed to know what to do with his state.

As it was, Reaver doubted the ornery exile would willingly share the details. Perhaps if Reaver buttered him up some, so to speak? Ben would never trust him, but if he could forge some sort of friendly camaraderie, the man might be more willing to let something slip.

If he could gain true immortality through the same means as Ben, he could knock those Judges' heads together to his heart's content. Not to mention he would be unstoppable in his goals.

Of course, if the means turned out to be impossible, he could always betray Ben and the Seer by offering himself up as an attendant of the Court. He had no issue with serving in what ever regime they were attempting to instate. Regimes always fall, eventually.

With that sorted out, he looked longingly at his bed. He knew better then to try to sleep again. It would lead to more nightmares, waking, fighting with himself, trying to sleep, and rinse and repeat.

The only things that could send him into a sleep deeper then the memories could reach were stiff drinks and stiffer pleasures. Ben was now out of the question, so he threw some clothes on and set off for the nearest brothel.

* * *

When Ben woke the next morning, the swears of the locals floated through his window, the warm sun crawled across his form, and a creeper shuffled about at the end of his bed. Barely opening his eyes, he groped for his rifle and pointed it at the butler.

"Wha'choo doin'?" he slurred grumpily.

The old man barely looked troubled as he put up his hands. "Only setting out your things, sir."

He peered over and, sure enough a new outfit, from underclothes to the bright red jacket were neatly folded on the bed. "Oh..." He put his gun away and stuffed his face back into his pillow. "Go away. S'too early."

"Quite the contrary," said the butler. "It's almost noon, and Master Reaver requested that you be roused immediately."

"Noon?!" Ben pushed himself up, alarmed. "Bloody hell, we need to be off!"

"Very good, sir." The butler bowed and left him to get dressed.

He grumbled as he actually quite liked the garments. They were new, fitted, and much nicer then he was used to, but still practical. With the red jacket, the waist coat, and the loose white shirt, it looked a bit like his old uniform. He was grudgingly pleased to find a fat and sturdy pack sitting next to the bed. It contained everything else he requested.

He couldn't put it off any longer. He had to find Reaver.

With his new pack slung over his shoulder, he stepped out into the hall and followed the scent of food and tea that was wafting through the house. It led him downstairs to a drawing room where his host was sitting with one leg folded over the other. He was sipping at a delicate Eastern teacup and reading the newspaper.

The domesticity of the scene nearly made Ben shudder. Instead, he plopped into one of the other available chairs, selected one of the toasted sandwiches that was laid out on a nearby tray, and took a large bite.

"Enjoy your lay in?" Reaver asked in a pleasant tone. He glanced up from his paper.

Ben was glowering at him, taking in his appearance. He was dressed much more practically then usual, in a brown jacket and matching top hat (one that wasn't freakishly tall). Ben had never really _looked_ at the man all those years ago, and based on voice, had always pictured him as more of an elderly gentleman. Now he saw that Reaver's hair had actually gotten darker, his skin paler and completely unblemished by age. His inky black eyes, shadowed by sleep deprivation, were tainted with the faintest touch of red.

One of his eyebrows rose and he smiled. "See something you like?"

"No," Ben answered. "You look awfully young for a 400 year old."

"Has my butler been blathering again? Perhaps it's time to end his tenure." His hand crept to his gun, but Ben had that infernal rifle in his face before he could draw..

"Like I'd let you," said Ben, managing to sound calm.

Remembering his plans, Reaver released his weapon and crossed his arms instead. "You're no fun," he huffed.

Ben relaxed, but kept his gun trained. "So, you're an immortal, same as me?"

Reaver eyed the weapon. "If I was, then continuing to brandish that toy at me would be pathetically ineffective." He paused to weigh his options. "However, I do not share your affliction."

Ben frowned. "Then why don't you look a day over 30?"

"Eternal Youth," came his flippant reply. "I am immune to disease, age, and whatever other ravages time can reap, but I can still be killed. I would make it extremely difficult, but it could be done."

Dumbfounded, Ben sat back. "Why would you tell me that?!"

"Did you not want the truth?"

He shook his head. "I certainly didn't expect it. You're planning something."

"Of course I am, I'm Reaver. Plans aside though, I'm also a sporting fellow, and I thought I might even the playing field." The Tycoon leaned forward, curiosity flashing dangerously in his eyes. "Now, I told you mine. Hows about you tell me yours, hmm?"

Ben grinned. "No way in hell."

With a chuckle, Reaver said, "As expected." He stood and walked to one of the bookshelves in the corner of the room. "Shall we be off, then?" He tugged on a book labeled _Escaping the Norns,_ and the whole shelf slid into the wall.

"Nifty." Ben's voice was flat as he followed into the dusty, dripping stone tunnels.

"Isn't it though? I haven't brought anyone down here since Sparrow."

"The Queen's mother?" Ben was interested despite himself. There weren't many accounts of the first Monarch's heroic exploits, only that she defeated a tyrant along side three other Heroes.

"She was a beautiful woman... up until I sent her on a certain errand. Oh how our lost little paragon reminds me of her." Instead of continuing down the tunnel, Reaver stopped at a gigantic wine barrel and twisted the spout. The face of the barrel swung outwards, revealing a branching path. "Where was I? Ah yes... we were escaping from Lucien Fairfax, who had made the error of double-crossing me and destroying my ship. I got him back for that, let me tell you. Shot him in the stomach and sent him careening down the Spire."

Ben stumbled upon hearing that. "_You_ killed Lucien?"

Reaver waved dismissively. "Stupid sod wouldn't shut up. He kept droning on about how cruel and undeserving the world was, and how he had been denied a family, as if he's the only one who's ever lost something. Sparrow was standing there, _listening, _so I shot him. The look on her face..._"_

The narrow stone suddenly opened into a massive, moss covered grotto. There was a mechanical structure woven into the walls that met at Cullis Gate set into the roof of the cave. Wooden stairs lead down to the deep, still water, and a dock stretched towards a small ship. "Here we are," said Reaver.

The vessel was unlike anything Ben had ever seen before. It was long and sleek, made of rich wood and polished gold. There was a set of red sails that were folded back like a sea serpent's fin, but, despite the smoke stack jutting from the cabin, there were no visible water wheels. Its name was etched proudly on the side.

"_Narcissus?" _ Ben tested the foreign word on his tongue. "What kind of name is that?"

"An Old Kingdom legend I'm rather partial to. I had to change the shipping laws to call it that," he explained as he stepped up the plank.

Once Ben's feet hit the deck he stood there, confused. There was a cabin raised above the deck in the fashion of a river boat, but no wheel.

"Pull up the plank and cast off, will you." Reaver disappeared into the cabin.

Grumbling, Ben did as was asked before stepping inside himself.

The mystery of the missing wheel was solved, but about a dozen more jumped out at him. The room was done up like a comfortable lounge, with couches set beneath the windows and a cracked, and ancient stone globe fastened into the center of the room. By one of the couches was a large apparatus Ben couldn't make sense of, and towards the stern was a railing and a set of stairs leading below deck.

There was no pile of coal, and no furnace. Were they below?

Towards the prow, under a set of large windows, was a half-moon shaped panel that held a relatively small wheel, sever knobs and gauges, a leaver that could be moved up and down, and another magical seal.

Reaver was standing in front of this with his hand on the seal. There was a roar that shook the entire ship before settling into a steady, rumbling purr.

"What did you do, invent self shoveling coal?" asked Ben as moved further into the room.

"No," Reaver answered, amused. "I've foregone steam power altogether."

"So what does this thing run on?"

With a grin, Reaver moved the leaver down. "The future."

Ben was sent sprawling onto one of the couches as the _Narcissus _shot from the grotto's mouth.


	7. Pirates and Sea Monsters

**Sorry about the long delay. I have a lot of original writing I've been working on. I do have this story planned out now though, so even if the chapters are far between I should be able to update it every now and again.**

**To the few who have already read this far: I've made some revisions to the earlier chapters. It's only that Reaver was using a fake accent while he was in disguise, so you don't have to read them, but it might come up again so I thought you should know... **

* * *

As soon as he was used to the unnatural skipping motion, Ben was outside at the railing watching Bloodstone rapidly recede. The ship was roaring like a dragon and churning the sea into foam at its tail. He didn't understand how this speed was possible.

"The propellers are submerged at the stern." Reaver was smirking at him out of a window.

Forgetting who he was talking to, he laughed and yelled, "This is a bloody Marvel!"

The ship began to slow and the beast hidden in he hull coughed and quieted. Reaver flicked a switch that caused the sails to rise and unfold. Another switch set the course.

"There's plenty of fuel, but I prefer to conserve as it is still a bit difficult to come by," he explained as he stepped up to the rail beside Ben. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

Ben moved away from him, but was too elated by the sea to rile any true animosity. "What is this ship? Magic?"

Reaver leaned against the rail. The man never seemed to stop smiling, but at this moment it looked a little less like a well practiced lie. His chuckle was light and honest as he said, "Science, Benny. While magic is exceedingly useful, I have no desire to repeat the mistakes of the past. It's called a combustion engine, and, as I understand, it basically runs on controlled explosions. Much more more powerful than steam... more exciting as well."

"Explosions... Don't know how I like the sound of that."

"You'd better get used to it. I already have my people working on installing them in carriages. In a matter of years, the Reaver Engine will dominate both land and sea."

Ben's eyes narrowed and his mouth twisted into a bitter grin, "You'll finally take over Albion by obsoleting the horse?"

"Hmm?" Reaver blinked at him. "Take over Albion? I accomplished that goal decades ago. No, I have my sights set quite a bit higher these days. Now hows about I give you the grand tour?"

* * *

Even with only her sails, the _Narcissus_ was much faster than most ships. Yet it was still going to take at least a week to reach the nearest Samarkand port, and Ben quickly realized there was not much space on the tiny vessel in which to escape her owner.

The first day, Reaver proudly showed off a small galley, several cozy sleeping cabins (Reaver took the largest one), a latrine, an engine room, and a hold that was half filled with food and water, and half with the fuel tanks and barrels of the foul brown liquid that filled them. He showed off the few wonders he had installed. The large machine Ben noticed in the navigation room was a radio, and when turned on it clicked endlessly in a strange code. Reaver's explanation of the thing flew right over Ben's head. The globe was of particular interest. Most globes of the known world had only a single large continent and a number of islands. This globe was covered in strange land masses and runes, Albion looking tiny amongst them.

"I don't know how accurate it is," Reaver explained. "I found it in a cave in Aurora of all places."

After a crash course on how to control the ship, Ben was left to his own devices... which quickly ground to a halt.

He had forgotten how boring sailing could be. At least during his pirating days, there were ropes to haul, decks to swab, and salty brigands to cheat at cards with. The _Narcissus_ practically sailed herself, and the only other person on board was a hated enemy who loved the sound of his own voice.

That was the other problem. Ben tried to keep up a quiet animosity towards Reaver, he really did. But with his genial nature and inability to hold a grudge, he found his limit for keeping up a hateful attitude was about one day.

It didn't help that, come evening, Reaver emerged from the hold with an expensive bottle of wine and actually shared it this time. The man was in a suspiciously good mood.

And so the days passed with Reaver talking endlessly about his exploits, both adventurous and carnal, and Ben laughing at stories that were meant to scandalize and disgust. Ben made comments, but was careful not to share any details about his own life. Just because he was being friendly didn't mean he'd forgotten who Reaver was.

On the fifth night, Ben woke to the chiming clock in his room. The ship could hold its course, but it had to be watched and corrected in case any larger waves forced it to veer. By day, they both kept an eye on it, but at night they alternated who was on watch. It was time for Ben to take his turn.

Wiping the sleep from his eyes, he stumbled up from below deck to find his shipmate staring moodily into a nearly empty glass of brandy.

"What did it do? Insult your mother?" Ben said through a yawn.

Reaver shook himself and plastered on a fake smile. "It withheld promises of peace, and with that I'm going to bed." He downed the rest of his glass and gracelessly lurched down the stairs.

Ben eyed the abandoned bottle. It was a little less then half full and a second, clean glass was left out for him so he helped himself. Stepping outside, a face-full of sea breeze and a sip of liquid fire served to rouse him.

An hour later Ben was at the wheel when, like clockwork, Reaver reemerged, this time wrapped in a blanket.

"You better be wearing clothes under there," Ben warned.

Reaver smiled and winked before sprawling back into his preferred couch. This had become a sort of ritual. He would go to his room every night to try and sleep, reappear about an hour later, and spend Ben's shift either talking or dozing fitfully. Ben was beginning to understand where the shadows around his eyes came from.

Funny though, Ben couldn't picture the Tycoon actually caring about anything enough to loose sleep over it.

That night Reaver opted to stare at Ben's back, to the point where it became unnerving.

"I'm not doing anything that interesting," Ben snapped.

Reaver's voice was husky as he asked, "What would you say if I were to proposition you?"

"Try to jump my bones, and I will cut yours off."

A chuckle. "Come now Ben, a closed mind does no one any good. You're what... 80? Surely you've at least experimented."

"Oh I experimented alright, and I can honestly say, with 100% certainty that peckers are not my thing."

"What about arses?" Reaver jovially continued. "I'm fine either way."

Ben turned to him, face stony and eye a-twitch. "You just spent the last five days describing the sorts of things you've had up your arse, so forgive me if I want nothing to do with it."

"You don't know what you're missing." He used a sing song voice.

"A nasty case of crotch rot most likely."

The two of them glared at each-other until Ben was struck by the absurdity of the situation. He doubled over and cracked into uncontrollable laughter.

Reaver's fingers twitched, itching for his gun, but he managed to keep his smile in place and stay relaxed. "I'll have you know that I'm immune to disease, STD or otherwise, which likely means you are as well."

"Sod off!" Ben was bent double, hands on his knees. He was shaking his head as he continued to laugh. "I'm still not *_snigger* *snort* _buggering you, you *_snort* _ancient trollop."

He continued like that, shooting strangled insults at Reaver between guffaws. Reaver was beginning to shoot some back, when he noticed the distinct lack of waves lapping at the side of the ship.

He sat up, silent and alert. Out the window he could see the sails pregnant with wind, but the the ship wasn't moving. It was listing strangely and shuddering.

Reaver threw his blanket off, revealing that he was at least wearing pajama pants. "Move!" He shoved the still sniggering Ben aside and dove for the control panel. He hit the switch that folded the sails and pressed the ignition seal, slamming the throttle as the stern was yanked downwards.

The _Narcissus _see-sawed violently, sending Ben tumbling into the globe. Reaver barely managed to keep his feet.

"Holy Hell!" Ben recovered on time to watch something massive and rubbery slap against the port-side windows, suckers the size of sewer caps palpating against the glass. "It's the Kraken!"

"I noticed!" Reaver was alternating between gunning the motor and easing off, but it was having no effect. He flicked another switch and yelled, "Aft! Now! Make it let go!"

He didn't need to tell Ben twice. The ex-soldier was up and outside in a flash, his cutlass singing as he slashed at a tentacle blocking his path. The dark flesh yielded to his blade, spilling inky blood that stank of rotten fish. It's owner withdrew the injured limb with a deep and tired moan that Ben heard more in his ribs then his ears.

His way cleared, he dashed to the stern and found that a clockwork gatling gun had emerged from a hatch in the deck.

"I think I'm in love with this ship!" He cried.

Just as he reached the weapon, the Kraken reaffirmed its grip and tried to drag the whole ship beneath the waves. The _Narcissus _groaned, but held together.

An obese bladder of a head broke the surface of the water, bulbous, orange eyes staring at Ben with a soulless determination. It threw its three frontmost tentacles high into the air and lifted its immense form so that the dripping beak was exposed. It loomed, clicking towards its target, ready to gobble him whole.

Ben bellowed and turned the crank on the weapon. It whirred to life with a surprisingly soft buzzing as it spit a fiery torrent of bullets into the Kraken's gelatinous underside.

The monster moaned again and fell backwards, stunned. Its grip loosened, allowing the ship to leap above the waves.

The moment he sensed his ship's freedom, Reaver pushed the engines to their limit. They were off like a shot.

Ben cackled as the thrashing monster receded. "Enjoy your new holes, you over-limbed sack of snot!"

"Did you kill it?" Reaver called from the cabin.

"No! I think I just made it angry!" He watched the Kraken right itself and begin to pulse towards them. "Its giving chase!"

He aimed the gun and continued to fire, causing the Kraken to back off and sink into the depths. "It's gone."

"Not likely. Of all the briny horrors, the Kraken is the most persistent. We can outpace it, but we won't lose it till we head inland."

"You sound awful familiar with it," said Ben as he entered the cabin.

Reaver ran a shaking hand through his hair. He was shivering more from being shirtless then from being upset. "It feels like I'm attacked by that accursed cephalopod every time I go to sea. In fact, it might actually _be _a curse. I was accosted by this haggard sea-witch once, and, well... the Void hath no fury."

He switched controls with Ben, replaced his blanket, and stepped outside to assess the damage. Luckily it was minimal. He had his ship designed to be tough, as well as fast. However he whimpered at the amount of blood and mucus coating the beautiful deck.

"Can she keep up this speed?" Ben asked upon his return.

"She'll have to... At least at this pace we'll be in Samarkand by tomorrow evening." He plopped down on his couch. It was Ben's shift anyway, so he allowed himself to drift to sleep.

This time he didn't wake up.

"I could kill you right now," said Ben. "Rid the world of one more monster. Plus I'd get to keep this lovely ship of yours."

No response from the softly snoring form.

With a sigh, Ben shook his head and got back to steering.

* * *

"Oi! Reaver, wake up!"

Reaver gasped and bolted upright, raising his arms to shield his eyes from the morning sun.

"There's a ship trying to intercept us. It's flying a Jolly Roger."

"Pirates?" he croaked. He was disoriented. His mouth was dry and tasted of death. Shaking himself, he stood and went to the window next to Ben. Sure enough, there was a pirate ship peeking against the horizon.

His eyes narrowed. "That's the _Panting Patty_," he snarled.

Ben squinted and leaned closer to the glass. "So it is. They friends of yours."

"They keep plundering my cargo ships and popping off to Samarkand where the Navy can't follow."

Ben laughed, "If they're giving _you _trouble, they have my respect."

A bark brow rose as Reaver turned and gave him a sly look. "They've also attacked three coastal villages. I don't appreciate people _raping_ and _murdering_ all over my nice clean Albion."

His face hardened at that. "Then I'm guessing we're not going to warn them about the giant, angry, octopus on our tail?"

"I've a better idea." Reaver's black eyes glittered with malice. He skipped down to his room to get dressed.

* * *

It didn't take long for the _Panting Patty _to bear down on the tiny, glittering vessel. All cannons were at the ready, and the pirates who weren't manning them had rifles trained at the passengers.

The Captain licked his lips as he admired the rich craftsmanship of the ship that bore the name _Narcissus_. If it wasn't bloated with treasure then he'd eat his hat

Tims, his first mate, gasped at the sight of the two men who were standing on the deck with their hands raised.

"You recognize them?" he asked.

Tims nodded. "Aye, the tall one wif' the dark hair," he said in his somber voice. "No one what grew up in Bowerstone could forget 'is face. 'Ees Reaver."

"_Reaver_?" The Captain's mouth cracked into a ravenous, toothy grin. "The wealthiest man in Albion? This _is_ our lucky day."

"I'd let 'im pass."

He gave Tims a puzzled look. "Good God, man, do you have any idea how much his ransom would be worth?"

"All our lives, if the stories be true."

He frowned. Tims was a sensible man, and it was not often that he ignored the First Mate's advice. However, he had the opportunity of a lifetime floating down there at his mercy. Could he really let it pass him by?

"Sorry Tims, but this is one hand I'm not folding on."

He placed a foot on the mooring and leaned into view of his victims. "Good morning!" he shouted down to them. "Out for a merry cruise, are we?"

"Hardly! I've been stuck for days with this preening parrot who doesn't know how to shut up!" Ben shouted back.

Reaver put a bullet in his brain so quickly that the pirates couldn't even see the draw. With a great clicking of hammers every rifle and pistol aboard the _Panting Patty _was aimed at his head.

The Captain put up a hand to stop them from firing, and scowled at Reaver, who was smiling prettily up at him. His eyes flicked to the crumpled body. There was a nice halo of blood forming around the poor sod's head. It wasn't fake. The man was dead.

"I see your reputation is not undeserving, _Master Reaver, _but you won't get a second shot off before my crew turns you to emmental, so you better drop your gun."

Stooping, Reaver place his weapon gently onto the deck. He then stood, hands raised once more. "Forgive me," he said lightly. "He was beginning to grate."

"We would've killed him anyways. You should have saved your bullet for someone over here."

"After all the trouble your little band has caused me, a mere bullet would be far too... swift."

The Captain laughed. So the Tycoon thought he'd somehow turn this situation around and kill a whole ship of bloodthirsty cutthroats? "Yes, well, we're tossing you some rope. You are to secure your ship and then wait with your hands raised. Try anything funny and..." He drew a finger across his neck.

Reaver rolled his eyes, but did as the Captain demanded. He murmured, "Don't let any harm come to my gun or my ship," as he passed the still prone Ben. Once the lines were tied, he waited while a rope ladder was unrolled down to his deck.

With a nod, the Captain turned to Tims and said, "Take Nivey and see what he's got stashed in there. Kill any hiders."

"Aye Cap'n." Tims motioned for a wild hared and mad eyed Samar woman to follow him, and with a grave sigh, descended the ladder.

When he reached the _Narcissus,_ he collected Reaver's gun and pointed it at its owner. "Go on up then," he said.

The wild woman bared her teeth in a grin and snapped at Reaver like a dog as he passed, but the only reaction that got her was a quirk of his brow. She whipped out a knife. "Can I tab es dandli an? Geev um yahan suv'neer?"

"Leave 'im, Nivey," Tims admonished as he gestured for Reaver to climb. "We got work to do."

As he reached the top, Reaver was grabbed by strong, grimy hands and dragged the last few feet. Despite his struggles, he was frisked and forced to his knees. He gasped as his arms were wrenched back in a grip that would likely bruise, and even once they were bound, he wasn't released.

"Easy now. Don't damage him."

The crowd of leering pirates parted as their Captain strode forward. He bent on one knee before his captive, and gripped the man's chin.

He forced Reaver's eyes to meet, expecting to see fear or fury. Instead the Tycoon's dark gaze was calm... almost bored.

There was something else there; something that made him shiver.

Not showing his new doubt, the Captain said, "Sorry about the rough treatment. I've heard stories of you, so you'll understand if I don't want to take chances."

"It's quite alright! I have this effect on many people. There's just something about me that makes them want to tie me down and ravish me... though normally it's the money I offer. You, however, are delightfully forward."

He earned a harsh backhand for that.

With a perturbed chuckled, the Captain said, "Tie him to the mast."

Reaver's eyes narrowed. That... might actually be a problem. It would make make it harder for him to escape, and if the Kraken attacked at the wrong moment, he would go down with the ship. He didn't show the alarm he felt as he was dragged along. His back was slammed against the mast, rope wound uncomfortably tight around his chest, and feet tied in place; he wasn't going anywhere.

Through the process, Reaver struggled and babbled, "Ooh, haven't done this one in awhile. A question, though: is that exotic... _thing_ you sent to my ship supposed to be female? Can she participate?"

As soon as he was secured, the Captain advanced on him with a curved dagger, pressing it under his chin and forcing his head up to avoid being pierced.

"Your poor friend was right, you _don't _know how to shut up," the Pirate seethed. "Do you even know who I am?"

"Aside from a minor annoyance? No."

The Captain drew himself up and proudly said, "I'm the Pirate King."

As expected, Reaver's eyes widened with what he assumed was fright... untill a moment later when that handsome face split into a devilish grin.

"Oh this is _rich,_" purred the Tycoon. "Tell me, dear boy, what claim have you to that title?"

"Captain Andrew _Dredd_, at your service. I'm certain you've heard of my ancestry?"

Usually that had people quaking in their boots, but Reaver had the gall to laugh at him. The men who'd crowded around, stepped back, fearing he had gone mad.

"Funny," he said. "I thought ol' Dreddy had no children. His dear Marianne died before she had the chance to conceive any, or are you claiming to be a descendent of the man from whom he stole the name?"

Captain Dredd frowned, his brow furrowed as his crew murmured in confusion. "What _are _you talking about?"

Reaver blinked at him. "So you adopted someone's legacy and didn't bother to do your homework? Tut, tut."

He turned red as the insinuation sank in. "There are no records that detail his life!" he snapped. "So how do you claim to know so much about him?"

"Simple. He gabbed on about himself before I killed him."

The ship went silent, then rocked with the laughter of its crew.

Dredd smiled, feeling relieved. "You're insane."

"I am not!" Reaver barked, feigning insult.

"The legendary Captain died hundreds of years ago-"

"Three hundred and... fourteen, to be exact. And if you know of him, then you've surely heard of _me."_

Silence again, and this time no laughter followed.

"Everyone's heard of the Pirate King Reaver," the Captain said cooly. "And everyone's heard of you... a bloodsucking businessman who took that name to strike fear in the hearts of his competitors, but I'm afraid you'll find us Men of Fortune to be far less gullible then some stuffed and painted fops."

"Is that what they're saying about me?" His smile turned evil.

Dredd's eye twitched. "You can't be the same man! That was hundreds of years ago, and besides; no Pirate King has ever walked away from his title!"

"You're right, normally they're carted off in a wooden box. And I never walked away. I merely aim to plunder the greatest treasure anyone has ever known."

The pirates leaned in at the word 'treasure,' and their Captain couldn't keep the curiosity out of his voice as he asked, "And what treasure would that be?"

Eyes flicking to his ship and back again, Reaver said, "The World."

Whatever fear he had built was instantly broken as Dredd openly laughed in his face. He had to close one eye to keep the spittle from hitting it. The crew joined in, but not as raucously as before and with more than a few uncertain glances.

Dredd dabbed at the tears in his eyes with a handkerchief and opened his mouth to say something. Before he could utter a syllable, his hat leapt from his head and landed at Reaver's feet, a smoking hole through the brim.

"Who the bloody hell just shot at me?!"

Another bullet struck the man next to him, leaving him on the ground, clutching his shoulder and screaming.

A third and fourth bullet popped through the sail, triggering chaos. The pirates were whipping out guns and diving for cover, all while searching frantically for the source of the shots.

"There Cap'n!" one of the men finally shouted, pointing towards the horizon. "Reaver's ship came loose and someone's sniping at us from atop the cabin!"

The men fired a few shots themselves, and even ignited a cannon, but the ship was already too far away for them to hit accurately.

During this, Reaver struggled without luck in getting loose from his bonds. At first he thought Ben was simply firing widely, hoping to hit as many pirates as possible. He winced when an errant bullet struck the mast right by his elbow. More followed it. Every couple of shots struck close enough that he could feel the splinters hit his skin. Was Ben aiming for him?!

Then he felt the slack and grinned. So maybe the ex-soldier was more useful then he seemed.

As Reaver leaned forward, the rope gave way with a dry snap. His hands were already freed with a knife he stole during his struggles, and which he buried in the nearest neck. He took the dead pirate's gun, adding its bullets to the chaos.

The Captain was too busy to notice that his hostage had escaped, as he had his spy glass out and was staring across the water at the sharp shooter. "By Skorm!" he shouted when he recognized Reaver's slain companion. Something about the sight of the man - red coat, bloodied forehead, rifle aimed with near impossible accuracy - tickled his sense of familiarity. His eyes widened as he realized why. It was a legend that had gained popularity in the last few decades; a sort of ghost story of a soldier from the Samarkand March who was doomed to forever wander in search of the lost Queen.

"It's Bloody Ben!" cried one of his men who had also thought to take out their glass.

The specter quickly reloaded and waved to them as he took aim.

Captain Dredd was forced to drop his glass and duck when one of the bullets whizzed next to his head. From the floor he could notice that his men were either going down or firing wildly, not always in the direction of the _Narcissus. _

"Captain!" The man with the glass called to him.

He was ignored as Captain Dredd realized the mast was hostage-free and a dark haired figure was dancing about and killing his men. "Who the bloody hell let Reaver loose!"

"Never mind that Captain. There's something big in the water!"

"What now?" He started to get up to see what it was, but was distracted.

Reveaver, as soon as he heard the phrase _something in the water, _was up in the shrouds and doffing his hat in a grand, gentlemanly manner.

The pirates were taking aim, but their Captain hollered, "Hold your fire you Hobbes buggering twits! If you shoot him it'll all be for not!"

"As invigorating as this has been," said Reaver to his now rapt audience, "An old acquaintance of mine has arrived with whom I do _not_ get along, and it is with a heavy heart that I must bid you all adieu. Tatty-bye!"

With that he let go of the ropes and plummeted off the side of the ship.

"No!" Captain Dredd leaned over the side on time to see Reaver enter the water in a perfect swan dive. "There's no bloody way I'm letting you get away now." he muttered, taking off his coat and boots.

Just as the _Panting Patty_ began to list unnaturally, he leapt off in pursuit of his escaped hostage.


End file.
